Fighting

Shape of My Heart by Sting lingers in the background as I write this...

It started with spankings. I think I was trying to climb a bookshelf the first time it happened. It startled me. Scared me. It hurt.
Sometime after I did a second transgression and knew it was coming. I tried to outrun my mom crying, but eventually she caught up to me. That trapped feeling I'll never forget.
Years later when she couldn't spank me anymore she would scream literally centimeters from my face which left my ears ringing. She'd ask me why I'd done something and because, I could never give the right answers I began to say I don't know, hoping that would solve the problem and I could go back to hiding in my rooom. But somehow this seemed to make her more angry so she'd shove me into walls. Sometimes she'd raise her hand to hit me and wouldn't. Other times she'd think better of it and would. Sometimes I'd taunt her to do it. I don't know why exactly. When I ran away from home at 16 that was her breaking point. She let me live with Dad. I've never told anyone this- but there was a time Dad did too. But he felt terrible about it. Apologized and cried to me. It was easy to forgive a one time thing. Mom denies any of these things ever happened. I don't expect I'll ever hear a sorry from her. I never had the answers, when it came to calming myself because what I sought was human affection. I couldn't get it from the person who had just lashed out at me. The other 2 members of the family stayed out of it. So someday when I was 12 the self injury began. Sometimes it was so bad you couldn't see skin between my wrists and elbow. I would cut, on top of other cuts. This was my go to since, there was no on else.

Anyway, it changed me. The way I fight with people. I have never hit another person. I've never gotten close to that point. Sometimes I raise my voice, but I've never broken anything in anger either. I've read about bpd people and the way that they fight with others. I really don't see me doing that stuff. I try hard to understand and modify behaviors so I can get along with others. I hate conflict. It's terrible. I avoid it even at times when I should stick up for myself.

I've only ever had one guy get physical with me, and I ended the relationship then.

When I fight with someone I try to hold their hands and speak in a calm tone. I try to actively listen and find a solution. I'm guilty of not being able to do it every time. The point of this being I really try and show people I care even if we're disagreeing on something. I realize most people want to not be touched when they're angry, but some of the people I know and love have come to accept this about me. I never name call. Sometimes I want to say things like "you're being selfish" or "you're acting like a child" but I never do.
There is no time I feel more distant from someone than when we're fighting and I can't fix it, or do something about it. It means they're mad at me. That I did something wrong. And my brain automatically triggers back to the old escape routes to when I was young. Ones I've worked VERY hard on to change. To be less ill in that sense.

I'm exhausted. My brain hates it when I do this, but sometimes I have to just write through it. I was talking to a friend, Carl, who knew me fairly well through middle school. Apparently none of the kids wanted to come over because of the way my Mom treated me. It made them uncomfortable. I had fewer friends, because of what was going on at home. The irony of this is I NEEDED friends because of what was going on at home. My mom asked me once if I had a happy childhood. I nodded and looked the other way. Saying no would have been cruel.

I wonder what other people would have done in that situation? How they would have been able to calm themselves down? I sincerely believe my insomnia started because I would lay awake until I was sure mom had gone to bed, because often times if I'd fall asleep she'd wake me up because something hadn't been cleaned properly. She'd flip the lights on and grab my arm and yank. And no matter how I protested, or begged to do it in the morning, it had to be done that second. So I stopped sleeping. Laying really still, barely breathing waiting for her to come and get me again. I really do wonder if it is residual of that? I think it's physical too, in fact, told it is. But I remember those nights well.

Tired brain. Nap perhaps. Needed to write though, catch up on all your blogs when I wake. Thanks for listening.